


Home is Where the Heart is

by PurplePatchwork



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bloodplay, Body Horror, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7469226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePatchwork/pseuds/PurplePatchwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I see you have something that is mine." “Oh, you mean this?” Alfred asked innocently, after which he gave Ivan’s heart a rough squeeze. In which both Ivan and Alfred discover the pleasure of having a removable heart. My submission to the tumblr RusAme magazine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home is Where the Heart is

Where was it, where was it?! It couldn’t possibly be gone. Internal organics didn’t just grow legs and ran off. True, they usually didn’t escape one’s chest either, but Ivan had long since learnt to accept that extraordinary habit of his body. Yet he knew it had to be around here somewhere, hearts didn’t bounce or gently float to the ground or…

“Ahem. Looking for something?” a dangerously sweet voice came from behind. Ivan whirled around, eyes narrowing to tiny slits. He’d recognize that particular voice anywhere, no matter how much background noise, no matter how twisted or warped the other would make himself sound.

“Jones,” he growled lowly, venom spilling from his mouth. Alfred stared back with a victorious smirk accentuating his glistening eyes, but Ivan focused more on the object he was currently holding in his left hand. Alfred let it roll around, Ivan’s gut squeezing together at the strangely warm sensation shooting through his nerve endings.

“Braginsky,” Alfred purred in that same tone, bravely locking eyes with him. Any other would have cowered away from the near murderous expression Ivan currently sported, but not Alfred. Never Alfred.

“I see you have something that is mine,” Ivan said slowly, taking one step forward in an attempt to retrieve what was rightfully his. The most rightfully, as it came from within the gaping hole currently decorating his pale broad chest.

“Oh, you mean this?” Alfred asked innocently, after which he gave Ivan’s heart a rough squeeze. Ivan gasped as a shot of blinding pain seared his flesh and bone, the hole in his chest throbbing as he tried to protectively slam his hands over the wound. It was a pain unlike anything he had ever felt; worse than breaking a bone, worse than being shot or stabbed with a sword or pierced by arrows, worse than dying even, for death brought the sweet release of a moment’s rest. It was both inside and out, too warm yet too cool.

“Stop that,” he growled, voice having lost its bite and toxicity. He wasn’t going to plead, however. Russia never pleaded, not even in the most dire of circumstances.

“Relax, big guy. I’m not going to kill you or anything,” Alfred cooed soothingly, taking the pressure away from Ivan’s organ, leaving him gasping for breath in that moment of respite. “I finally have your heart in my hand, why would I waste the opportunity? I wanna see what it can do!”

Ivan’s eyes widened in apprehension, and a twinge of fear. This could be worse, far worse. He and Alfred were rivals. Who knew what the blond had in mind for him? And as long as he had that pulsing lump of flesh and nerves in his hand, Ivan was defenceless. Still, it might have been better than having his heart fall into the hands of England, who would immediately try to put a curse on it or something of the likes, or anyone who would freak out at the sight of a beating heart outside its house. Besides, having his rival hold the very essence of his life casually in one hand, eyes bright with curiosity, felt rather… intoxicating. The kind of excited someone felt when knowing they were dangling off the edge of the abyss; one wrong move would sent them falling to a certain death, but the induced adrenaline was delicious nonetheless.

“Jones,” he said slowly, keeping a close eye on his belonging. “I would be careful if I were you. You do not know what-“

Alfred gave another light squeeze, instantly cutting Ivan off. He even bit his tongue in his haste to stop talking, tasting salt and something irony. He sent Alfred an alarmed glare, blazing violets demanding to know just what the other was planning to do with his heart.

“I said relax,” Alfred insisted smoothly, though with a twinge of excitement underlining the tones. As he continued to speak, the thumb holding his heart began rubbing unconscious circles, a nervous tick the American had always had. Ivan’s eyes nearly bulged out of his sockets at the odd warmth tickling at the hole in his chest, settling in his guts and stomach. It was such a strange sensation, yet not entirely unwelcome. Which only freaked him out more.

“I mean come on, what would anyone do if they found a beating heart lying on the ground?” He shrugged, as if his reaction was _the_ most obvious one.

“Scream and run, I suppose,” Ivan replied. For some reason he was heating up a little too much, breath coming out in gasped pants, one hand snaking its way up to be placed over the wound. His actions didn’t go unnoticed by the assaulter, Alfred’s frighteningly blue eyes honing in on every detail. A grin like that of the Cheshire cat slowly played around his plump lips, lips that Ivan had made bleed more often than not in the past couple of years.

“Nah, where’s the fun in that!” Alfred looked down, eyebrows shooting up as if he only now became aware of the rubbing his hand had been undertaking. He stopped for a small while, giving Ivan a moment to catch his breath. Only a moment however.

Because next thing the Russian knew, he was on the ground, groaning and squirming and panting. “J-Jones,” he growled, unable to control his own voice. “What are y-you doing?!”

Meanwhile, Alfred’s gaze was still clinging to his twitching body, drinking up the display. All the while letting the tip of a pink tongue drag over the pumping organ. Power sourced through his veins at seeing Ivan in such a state- it was intoxicating, invigorating, empowering, _arousing_ … “What does it look like?” he asked, eyes darkening before giving another long-drawn lick. Ivan gave a moan in return- not one of discomfort, but…

“Does this excite you?” Alfred asked, a twinge of arousal pooling to his gut as Ivan gritted his teeth. It couldn’t be anything else- not with the way his body involuntarily jerked, the sweat already sticking his bangs to his forehead, that unfocused gaze and protective clenching of plump thighs. Ivan _was_ aroused by his heart being used like this, as weird as that may sound. _And Alfred liked the sight of it._ It hadn’t been his plan to make Ivan squirm at his feet- he hadn’t known what touching Ivan’s heart would do to the owner, after all. But his own pants were starting to feel a little tight at the held-back groans and curses with his name on it.

“Licking makes you like this…” he pondered, eyes a blue electricity as he crouched down beside his victim. A willing one, if the scorching purple glare meant anything. “Do you want more?” It was redundant to ask, seeing as he was going to continue regardless of Ivan’s answer. But it would be even better to have the other _beg_ for his heart to be played with like this, to have a subject that would gladly join in his little experiment. Besides, Ivan may have cursed him to the moon and beyond, but he hadn’t told him to stop.

Ivan stubbornly pursed his lips, breathing heavily through the nose. He refused to simply give the other what he wanted, to lay down deftly and let everything happen. He knew the American was far too curious for his own good, but to this extent?

Alfred pouted at the lack of reaction. “Aw, come on! I can tell you’re enjoying this, don’t deny it!” How to get more reactions out of him… Ah! He knew. Alfred returned his mouth to its previous position at Ivan’s heart, darting the tip of his tongue from bottom to top, poking at the openings where the aorta would have been. He had expected himself to be far more disgusted over the fact that this was a beating, bloody heart, but was it really that different from a slightly vibrating rare steak?

New ideas popping up, encouraged by the restrained sounds coming from the body struggling below him, he drew his lips back and lightly nipped at the lowest point. And oh, this time Ivan couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Ivan’s scream was something only to be heard in nightmares, a panicked animalistic sound filled to the brim with instinctive terror. It must have hurt, so very much… Yet Alfred noticed it did not instantly kill the man’s arousal. Nor his own. On the contrary, it only added to the growing fire in his gut.

“I think I’m just going to use this… That’ll be a lot more fun than touching you and risking getting your fist in my face.” Alfred used both teeth and tongue to lap at the different parts of flesh, pull softly at the veins, face quickly smothered with blood. He found the scent and pulsating sensations to resemble something much more sex-related, and even as Ivan lay panting and whimpering and sometimes moaning in both pleasure and pain in front of him, Alfred was mostly focused on the heart.

While one hand held the organ to his mouth, kissing softly at the bite marks to give the other a moment’s reprieve, the other travelled down to lower his zipper and free his erection. He was planning on “using” the heart indeed.

Through a veil of pain and the attack on all of his senses, Ivan could see what Alfred was about to do. “Jones…” he groaned, wanting to demand him to stop, but not finding the voice.

Alfred had been staring lustfully at his treasure, but now took a moment to lock eyes with the other. “Yes? You wanted to beg for me to stop?” Because only then would he go through with that. Ivan couldn’t physically assault him, not in the state he was in now. And he wasn’t touching Ivan either, just one particular part of him. They were nations, used to war and murder and death and so much worse. His old rival should be glad that he was only seeking to get himself off.

Ivan didn’t beg, didn’t plead. His pride was too big for that. Besides, now that the pain had been partially subdued, he had to admit he wanted to see what Alfred looked like when he completely lost himself, what it would feel like to be defiled in such an intimate place.

 “I thought so,” Alfred whispered, before placing a hand at his length and giving quick jerks, throwing his head back to expose bloodied jaw and thin red lines tracing down his neck. Ivan thought he would look quite exquisite bathing in blood…

Ivan’s lips drew back in a sneer, not one of disgust, but surprise. Alfred spilled himself over his heart, the warm gooey substance being palpable to Ivan even when lying a foot away. The sound of Alfred’s gurgled moan went hand in hand with the feeling of drowning in a sea of warm stickiness, and Ivan could only account their reactions to one single fact.

They were both sick, beasts among men. Their rivalry had been one of fire and passion, but if they could get like this in such a private atmosphere…

Alfred was sitting on his knees, head still tilted back as he licked the blood from his lips. Both men were panting heavily, the sound intermingling with the calm beating of Ivan’s heart. He slowly crawled closer, coming to stand on wobbly legs once he deemed himself capable of the action.

“It seems like you enjoyed yourself, Jones,” he purred in a low voice, snatching his heart from the other’s unprotecting claw. Alfred peered up at him from beneath his eyelids, completely spent and satiated. Only a twinge of apprehensiveness lay in his otherwise excited smirk, as if he knew what was coming for him.

Ivan pulled him up by the collar, bringing that tanned face closer to his own wicked smirk.

“I believe it is my turn now.”


End file.
